


Faithful to a fault.

by Shameless_Cutie



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Comedy, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26615686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shameless_Cutie/pseuds/Shameless_Cutie
Summary: The game is changing in Gotham. Chess usually consists of two colors, Black and White. Joker finds himself suddenly painted grey. With devotion to the white king of Gotham, and a bone to pick with the Black King. What is a prince to do?
Relationships: Batman/Joker, Harley/Ivy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	1. Intro- Teaser.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my fic! This is a project I have been working on for a while and I'm excited to start posting chapters. 
> 
> Quick note- This is not a direct fiction of any iteration of Batman, but is a free-form version of the characters. 
> 
> Please remember to comment! Thanks and enjoy~

A hunk of waterlogged wood quietly crashed against the stone landing of Gotham’s harbor. The boat it had fallen off of moaned into the dusky morning as it swayed with the crisp breeze. With a click and electric buzz, the peeling paint on the side of the ship began to glow with artificial yellow light. The storage units and crates of the harbor were illuminated by the work lights. Rats squeaked in surprise and scurried away into darkened corners on the landing. A tallish, thin figure stepped onto the precarious edge, and admired the view of the water below. 

Gotham’s monstrous silhouette reflected in the harbor around him, the animated waves lapping and writhing with sinister energy. Above Wayne tower the moon watched as the city began to rouse and get ready for morning shifts, and night creatures crawled home for respite. The skyscrapers of Gotham City’s skyline stood like dominoes against the dark sky. The sight of it enticed the same joy in the figure’s heart as a child seeing the skeleton of a ferris wheel coming up in the distance. Low in his throat, he hummed the introduction to Entrance of the Gladiators. His crow-like voice echoed among the storage units and rusting boats. He imagined trumpets and high energy pianos in his mind as he paced. There was an orchestra sitting in his head, playing for him.

“Ba Da Dahadadadaa Dah Dah Da Da!” He swelled, hopping on top of a row of cinder blocks with a flair. His voice must have carried over the waters to the main business district of Gotham, giving someone a fright. His polished shoes tapped along the blocks as he gave his best dancing performance. The moon made his pale skin glow with an inhuman luster, and the yellow security lights could almost be mistaken for Christmas lights as they shined against the buttons on his suit. 

  


“This isn’t a circus, Joker.” 

  


The comment must have seemed funny to him, because his song was cut off by a laugh. He composed himself, running a thin hand over his  green locks, and gave his full attention to the unamused audience. A green bowler hat with a garish yellow question mark stared back at him, it’s owner grimacing. The man in the bowler hat set down his suitcase so he could cross his arms over his chest. 

“Gotham is the most incredible theme park in the world, Eddy. And it’s got the cutest bat mascot.” Joker giggled, his green hazel eyes squinting at the force of his smile. 

“You know I like metaphors, but I've always hated that song.” Edward seemed to give a visible shiver. “I used to work for a Circus… That song would play on repeat all day. Sometimes I hear it in my nightmares.” 

“Did you know it used to be a military march?” Joker’s heels clicked together as he stood at attention, “Funny how things can be twisted.” He hopped down, the tail to his coat fluttering around his legs. He eyed the suitcase at Edward’s feet with a lusty greed. “So, How about we skip the cake and get right to the presents?” 

Riddler nodded, and picked up the suitcase protectively. Behind him, two men in dark jackets and masks pushed open the door to one of the square storage units. The shortest of the two tossed away the padlock carelessly. They waved down the Riddler, who nodded and gestured with a bow. 

“After you.” A little, mocking smile cracked across his aged face. “We have a lot to talk about.” 

As Joker followed Edward into the storage unit, the sun broke over the horizon. The golden optimistic glow attempted to follow them, but with a screech and a slam, the heavy metal door shut it away. This left the Riddler and Joker the privacy to scheme like vampires in the dark. 


	2. White Pawn to E4

The Batsuit laid damp and stinking on the floor of his bedroom. Bruce’s feet were sore and covered in blisters. He walked on them tenderly, and used an outstretched hand to balance against the paneled wall. His eyes were red with lack of sleep, and his stomach gave a roar as he neared the dining room.

"Good morning Master Bruce." Elegantly gloved hands arranged a plate with the key ingredients to a balanced breakfast. Half a grapefruit, steaming oatmeal, toast, a small muffin, and a cup of coffee with sugar cubes on the side. He never took his coffee Black. Bruce Wayne looked too happy to fall into his chair and begin work on the bowl in front of him. He was already a few spoonfuls in before he swallowed nervously, and eyed Alfred.

"A lot of carbs today." He noted, the fact not stopping him from polishing off the still steaming oatmeal.

Alfred lovingly chuckled, and set a cloth napkin down before taking the bowl from the table. "You haven't been home for a proper meal in three days. Catwoman had you chasing after her tail- pardon, I mean trail that whole time as well. I can tell by your appetite you need the energy."

"My Appetite?-oh." Bruce looked guilty as he folded the paper from his muffin into a tiny neat triangle. The grapefruit had been gored by a spoon and the toast had vanished. All that was left was his coffee, already sugared to his tastes.

"My god Bruce." Alfred looked shocked. " Your breakfast looks like a crime scene."

Bruce let an unguarded laugh leave him. "Sorry Al. Thank you for the meal, you always take good care of me." He rose from the table and brought the coffee with him, taking a healthy gulp. The viggor in his blue eyes returned. "Selina got away, but not before I could wrestle the package from her."

"Have you figured out what's inside?" Alfred asked, wiping down the table until it's surface shined. All evidence of the breakfast massacre had been erased. "Or who her client was this time?"

"No leads on the client, but the package had a small usb inside. I'm going to review it right now down in the batcave." Bruce finished his statement by throwing back his head. His adams apple bobbed as he gulped the last of his coffee. "Then I'm going to review the news. I've missed that these last three days too."

"Very well." Alfred responded, taking the cup and the other dishes away. "You do look like you need rest. Refresh yourself Bruce."

He could feel the small usb in his pocket. So much trouble for this little thing. It had better have something worthwhile on it. He's had to beat down criminals for all sorts of reasons, but with Catwoman and her clients he couldn't even guess what she was up to. Was it plans for a simple heist or information on a cult bent on world domination? He dreaded the second. Being Batman was fun, but even he had limits on excitement.

Well… maybe that's a lie.

“Ah- Master Bruce. Be sure that you don’t forget that tonight you are hosting a charity event. I’ll have your suit ready.” Alfred left him in the dining room alone. Bruce audibly sighed, pressing his palm against his face and groaning.

These parties were anticipated by Bruce in the same way people anticipated a visit to the dentist. Every forced smile made his cheeks ache, and Gotham’s elite had run out of interesting stories to tell in 1920. He did however, love his city more than anything. He’d chop off his left arm if he knew it would help Gotham. It nearly happened to him every other month, anyway.

While he padded his way down the tiled hallway, he let his eyes run down the exquisitely painted landscapes in their frames on either side of him. Each one was an original and worth thousands, but he couldn’t even remember when Alfred had hung any of them up. Public auctions were a haze, and were quickly forgotten. The spaces in his brain that were reserved for memory were usually taken up by detective work. Even now he couldn’t pause to admire the shining fruit bowl set on his desk. Alfred did his best to keep the living spaces as fresh as possible. As soon as he entered his room, he slid on sandals and called the elevator. His closet door rattled, and with a soft ding opened up to a brightly lit secret opening. As the sunlight began to peek through his window, he vanished into the caves below the manor. His room was left cheery and inviting without him.

Upon stepping out of the elevator, he took in the sight of the batcave. It’s rocky walls and whirr of technology pulled him in with a sigh of relief. He loved the sound of grit under his feet and the chill of underground air. This was his real home, as far as he was concerned. Sensing his approach, the bat computer blinked to life. The monitor greeted him, turning the computer chair towards him automatically.

He fell into it, folding his hands over his lap for a moment. He could hear the distant sound of his bats chattering and squeaking among themselves.

“Computer, show me bat cam twelve.”

A window appeared. In its frame was a fuzzy little thing clinging to the wall. Between her wings was an even tinier baby. His ears were too big for his head, and he slept peacefully at his mother’s stomach. The mother bat’s long pink tongue gently cleaned his fur, causing it to peak into tiny spikes. Bruce’s heart gave a jolt in his chest. It resembled Dick a little too closely. He closed the window before he could allow himself to miss him too badly.

To bring his thoughts back to the mission, he pulled the usb from his pocket. It was a small thumb drive. Bruce knew that he shouldn’t underestimate the danger he was holding. Viruses and worms didn’t need a lot of space. The bat computer had survived hundreds of cyber attacks at this point, he had no reason to believe it couldn’t handle any malware that was potentially on this drive. He pressed it into the usb slot until it clicked. The computer needed only a fraction of a second to go over the contents of the drive. In a new window, bright green letters assaulted Bruce with their garish flickering.

“Can you solve my riddle?” Danced at him in an ugly font. The yes and no buttons bounced in place, begging to be clicked. Bruce had seen the most violent, disturbed crimes Gotham had to offer. However, this disregard for graphic design was one of the most frustrating he could remember. The Riddler could have coded the most beautiful .exe program in the world, and he decided to go with papyrus. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut to block it out. What the hell did Riddler want to accomplish with this? With a defeated sigh, Bruce clicked on the “Yes” button.

His disgust quickly fell into his stomach. The cold weight caused him to freeze in place.

“Who is the Batman?” Blinked at him, and was accompanied by a text box for the answer. The papyrus text suddenly lost it’s humorous innocence, and was replaced with a growing sense of doom. Bruce minimized the window and opened his news channel app. On his left, the face of the pretty reporter filled the screen. At the moment she was discussing poverty rates in Gotham. Not good news, but not what he was looking for.

“Computer, scan today’s broadcast for the terms, “Riddler, Edward Nigma, or Arkham.”

He screen flickered, then presented Bruce with a recorded sample of the earlier broadcast. He muted the live feed, and opened the recording. The same face, with her soft pink lips turned down into a worried frown, greeted him.

“The GCPD has issued a warning for the citizens of Gotham. Through the use of decoys and distraction several patients have escaped from Arkham asylum. Among the escapees was Edward Nigma. It is also believed that former psychiatrist Dr. Harleen Quinzel may have aided in the escape.”

Bruce checked the air time of the broadcast, and felt relieved that this report was only a few hours old. If the two had caused any trouble, it would have been all over the current news. He still had time to stop them before they could do any damage to his city. He had to start with the cryptic game from the USB. His computer was a better detective than he was at times. Before he could turn to the main screen, a small message was trying to grab his attention.

Bruce smiled, and let his computer do it’s thing. A map of Gotham appeared, and nearly a hundred tiny green blips decorated the city. Each one, when scanned, was either a laptop or mobile phone. This meant that the .exe had been shared with people all over Gotham. It didn’t seem to be random like malware. The green dots grew in clusters around abandoned buildings and shady haunts. This program was being shared person to person with purpose.

“Computer, please make this map available to the batsuit.” Bruce pressed the pads of his fingers to his temples, a tired sigh leaving him. “And continue to scan for any word of Edward Nigma on the news and the GCPD’s database.”

He stood, running his hand along the smooth surface of the bat computer, before turning back to return to the overworld. In the elevator, his entire weight fell back on the wall. His exhaustion was begging him to get some sleep before the event that night. He was going to give in and listen. Hopefully he’d be able to catch enough Z’s to pretend to be a normal man for a few hours.

\--------

Over the rim of his glass, two green hazel eyes gazed at the party-goers. Women in elegant gowns and men in perfectly cut suits. Their jewelry and watches glinted under the light of the chandelier. A perfect menagerie of Gotham’s elite. When the man with the glass looked at them through his chardonnay, they were reflected back at him upside down and warped. He was watching one figure in particular though his inverted scope, the belle of the ball so to speak. The host, standing a few paces away but unreachable.

This man was swarmed by smiling faces. Toasted glasses and handshakes. His hair was brushed back, but unruly enough to deviate around his ears. It was a shame when he brought up a muscular hand to tame it, hiding the part of him that was wild. He filled his suit perfectly with his broad shoulders, but the tight red undershirt looked restrictive. His water-clear blue eyes were disarming, and intelligent. A young woman with pastel lips leaned close to whisper something in the man’s ear, her butterfly lashes touching his cheek. His response was a clear laugh, which cut through the crowd’s chatter like an open chord. Everything about him was perfectly polished. And yet…

“For being so expensive, this wine doesn’t taste like much.” A bubbly voice pulled the hazel eyed man from his thoughts. His partner sipped wine and sat relaxed next to him on the plush bench. Her long pale legs were crossed under a tiered, ruffled red and black skirt. Her hair was pulled back into an impressive halo, the blonde flyaways framed her pretty face. Her striking red lipstick was worn and stained the lip of her glass. Her babydoll eyes radiated childlike innocence, but the wings to her makeup were knife-sharp, giving her a dangerously beautiful look. The stiletto heel to one of her red boots tapped restlessly against the tile.

“This will be over soon, kitten.” he assured her. He removed his pocket square to dab his forehead, where sweat had been gathering. He noted with a scowl that his foundation was starting to flake. “Games like ours take perfect timing. You’re free to mingle until I need you.”

She grabbed his arm and slid in close, to lay her head on his shoulder. He made no move to make this position comfortable for her. Her skin was nearly as white as his suit, as was his tie the same shade of blue as the vein that protruded from her slender neck. Her voluntary vulnerability disgusted him. She laid a delicate hand on his red trousers.

“They won't be able to see how nicely we match if you’re not by my side, Puddin’.” She whined, allbut nuzzling into him. “I don’t get to dress up pretty like this very often.”

There wasn’t much denying it, she was beautiful. Having someone who looked like her on his arm made every man jealous, and every woman insecure. She shined brighter than even the biggest diamond in the room. He was sure he could trade her for a ham sandwich when she threw herself at him like this. However right now, she was an important prop in this act. The woman counterpart to some rich schmoe invited to one of Bruce Wayne’s charity events. He was playing the part of the schmoe. In his wallet, he held the driver's license of a young attorney. That man was now floating somewhere off the coast of Gotham’s harbor, meaning his identity was up for grabs.

Bruce, the man who’s smile could charm the devil, excused himself from the gaggle of patrons surrounding him. He sauntered through the light crowd, until he reached the wall. From there, he seemed to hide behind a column. Just out of sight, he downed the contents of his glass with an air of desperation. The hazel eyed man stood, effectively shoving his partner off of him as he did. She made a distressed noise, and held out a section of her skirt that was now dripping with her wine. He hardly noticed. He waved down a servant and requested another. When the glass was handed to him, he was not aware that his partner was no longer sitting on the bench behind him. 

“Need more party punch?”

As he approached, Bruce seemed to strain a smile. There was a moment of confusion, as he stared blankly at the glass offered to him. Genuine relief flashed in his eyes when he accepted the glass.

“Thank you.” He looked the man up and down, from his tousled brown hair to his old fashioned oxford dress shoes. “I haven’t seen you at one of my events before. What’s your?...” 

“Charlie.” The hazel eyed man offered his hand. “My name is Charlie Rivel.”

The name must have been familiar, because without hesitation, Bruce returned the handshake. Good thing that the face was not tipping him off to the ruse. Bruce stood straight, his kind expression almost pensive.

“You can relax.” The hazel eyed man grinned at him. “You don’t need to put on a show for me.”

Bruce’s smile faded, until his body relaxed. Shoulders slumping and head tilting. The man’s eyes flickered over this new posture. Amazingly, letting go of the stick up his ass didn’t erase his charm. He looked overly tired, a few strands of black hair escaping again across his forehead. “You're the uh…” Bruce loosely gestured as his eyes unfocused. With a snap, he looked him in the eye. “You’re the attorney. Alfred has been sending you invitations for a while now. I’m so happy that you’ve come out to support the cause.”

The man sauntered close, leaning cooly against the wall next to Bruce. He shrugged, taking a brisk sip and mulling it over. “To be honest, I don’t know what the cause is. Mostly, I wanted to see the man of the hour himself. And here you are! Money well spent, I’d say. You’re quite the spectacle to see.”

Bruce gave a good natured laugh. “I’m sorry that I’m not in peak condition.” His eyes wandered over the man in front of him. “Wayne Tech is dealing with a few hard-coming deadlines. Everyone’s overworked right now… I’m not sure what the cause is tonight either.”

“Is that right?” The man responded, he let out a soft, ‘tsk’ and pursed his lips. “All of those people out there and you don’t even know where their money’s going? That’s not very responsible of you Mr.Wayne.” Bruce’s eye widened, until he was soothed by his conversion partner’s warm chuckle. “Relax. They don’t care either. You’re nothing more to them then a rare animal at the zoo. The donation money is just their ticket in to throw peanuts at the exhibit.”

“It feels like that sometimes.” Bruce gave the crowd an uneasy look. “But, if smiling and talking with a few people changes anything in Gotham, I’d do it every night. If I was being completely honest, meeting these people can be fun. Sometimes you meet interesting people.”

“What a hero.” The hazel eyed man said. He waved the comment away with a thin hand. “You have to like the attention though… That young woman you were speaking with seemed to really fancy you. Think you might escort her into your bedroom and wring a little bit more…” He swirled his wine. “...fun… out of her?”

Bruce’s eyebrows pinched together, his blue eyes taking on a deep sadness. “Ah. The playboy title. It’s both a compliment and an insult.” He looked overly unhappy. “Do I really look like that kind of a guy?”

“You should hope that you do.” The man responded. He gently nudged him. “It’s a powerful title. The man who gets anything he wants. It’s shamefully pleasing to be the thing that is wanted as well. Out of all of the broads in the room. That girl would be thinking, ‘he really wants little ‘ol me?” As he mimicked the girl, he popped a hip and leaned in closer to Bruce. One of his thin hands found themselves pressed against Bruce’s arm. His muscle was flexed and tense under the suit sleeve. The Hazel eyed man took in a deep breath, focusing on their position. He committed to memory the smell of his expensive cologne. The business man hesitated before stepping back.

“What about you?” Bruce asked. “You work within the law. Gotham must be a hard place to do that. Do you ever have trouble with it?”

The man hummed, looking deep in thought for a moment. His lips parted over his teeth, but it was a restrained grin. Behind them the party went on, becoming a comfortable hum of voices and clinking glasses. A woman passed by behind them, the steady rhythm of her heels filled the space between the question and answer.

“The law…” The man mused. “It certainly is a battlefield. When you do what I do, there is a never-ending army of people who want to stop you. Take you down in the most violent way possible.” His shoulders quaked in a silent laugh. “I think I have the skills to keep my head above water. You’d be afraid of me if you knew what I could do, Mr.Wayne.”

Bruce turned to him in surprise, reading his expression. He found that the man’s expression was still soft, the smile was casual and his posture still open and inviting. Bruce looked into his glass as he tried to formulate a response.

“Why would I be afraid of an attorney?” He asked, his tone pitching in curiosity.

“Do you even keep track of how much money you’re worth?” The man’s head rolled to the side, a deep sigh leaving his chest, causing the flower on his lapel to quiver. “I know you work hard, but those on the top of the food chain had to get there by eating those on the bottom. Nasty business. And people like you do their absolute best to hide every crumb of evidence that could pin them as the villain.” He finished the contents of his glass curtly, and bent forward to place the glass on the ground by his feet. One hand slipped into his pocket, shoulders slumping at an angle. “You have secrets. Nobody is stupid enough to believe that these parties and your visits to the local orphanage erase them.”

The hazel eyed man turned his head slightly to catch Bruce’s expression. He was expecting an offended glare, or even for him to turn away. The grin on his face relaxed into a small, confused frown. Bruce was the one smiling. His eyes closed, head tilted forward, and glass of wine at his lips. His posture had once again straightened like a soldier, and almost as if leaking from his pores he radiated a confidence that made the hazel eyed man feel inferior just by proximity. His breath caught in his throat as his impossible blue eyes opened, cold, serious, and stony.

“You’re right.” Bruce responded. “I have secrets, ones that I would be mortified if they ever became public. But-” He finished his own glass, mimicking the movements of his partner and setting his glass alongside the man’s. “You’d be afraid if you knew what I could do, Mr.Rivel.”

The man was stuck, unmoving except for his eyes, which darted back and forth between Bruce’s. It took him a few shuddering breaths before he composed himself, bringing his pocket square to his lips to clear away an uncomfortable cough. He masked the cough with a broken laugh.

“Very intimidating.” He smiled, shoving off of the wall and standing before him. “I think you’ve had quite enough wine, Mr.Wayne. I don’t think you should be talking like that to your guests. Well.” He let one hand rest on his chest, as if feeling his heartbeat. “I like this side of you though. It’s unexpected.” He held his arms up in a grand display, chest puffed and back twisted like a cat. Eyes were suddenly on them. “The king of Gotham!” He announced with a dramatic flair. Bruce cautiously leaned forward, hands raised. This did not stop him. He flicked his wrist, and a red card settled in his palm. He bowed, nose to the ground, and offered Bruce the card.

Bruce’s eyes furrowed, His relaxed smile was gone. He took it, allowing their fingers to brush together for a moment. The man moved so that the moment would last a moment longer, his forefinger running the length of Bruce’s palm.

“Two powerful players in the game… You’re going to want my card up your sleeve.” The man smiled. “Because I’m here to tell you someone is cheating.” The man’s cooked teeth clicked together as he spoke, eyes growing wide and furious. “ I /hate/ cheaters. If I am forced to get involved, I will.”

Bruce’s eyes suddenly widened, his head whipping around to scan the crowd. The hazel eyed man watched delightfully as a bead of sweat broke down Bruce’s sculpted face. He looked perfectly pinned, wings spread, soft belly exposed, like a rare butterfly on a board, or a taxidermized-

-BAT.

“Mistah Jay~” The tension was broken by a warm voice. Harley’s heels tapped as she jogged to the man’s side. In her delicate hand was a black walky-talky. “The clown car is loaded and ready. As soon as you're done talking with Mr.B we gotta go.” She stopped at his side, wrapping her thin arms around Joker’s arm. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, and gave Bruce a sneaky look. Her pretty red lips made even her devious grin attractive. “Stop teasing the poor animal, Puddin’.”

“Coming.” Joker sent one last smile Bruce’s way. With his free arm, he pressed his fingers to his lips, and blew a kiss. “Keep in touch.”

“Where are you going?” Bruce paced after them, catching Joker’s sleeve. His teeth gnashed in a dangerous scowl.

“The honest answer babe is that we’re going into hiding.” Joker responded. His eyes fixed on Bruce’s hand gripping his wrist. “I won’t be able to pop out of the cake to save you if I’m dead.” He pulled away from Bruce’s grasp, and brought his hand up to his face. He gave it a gentle pap, letting his hand rest for a moment before sliding down his jaw. Bruce’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “You have my card.”

Harley gave Joker’s arm a tug, finally pulling him free from Bruce’s side. She dragged him through the crowd, away from the dumbfounded businessman. The chatter in the room slowly came back, the event forgotten for the most part. Before Bruce could even break the stone keeping his feet in place, the young woman with pastel lips had found him again behind the column. He had to shove every worry and emotion down into the back of his mind, and put back on the mask of a carefree millionaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please remember to bookmark and comment if you did. 
> 
> Wear a mask, stay safe. <3


	3. White Knight to F3

Illuminated by the hearth, between pale fingers Bruce flipped and examined a single card. The King of hearts glinted back at him with each turn. His fingers shook slightly, as he read over the words scrawled on the back. The man who wrote them had elegant handwriting, but the letters warped and twisted. 

“283 Park Street. Follow the white rabbit. No cops, no weapons.” Then in smaller letters, “Maybe cuffs.” 

His body reacted instantly, a warmth swelling in his chest and the unapologetic stirring between his legs. Something inside of him abandoned all reason and began to anticipate following that address. Finding the one who wrote those hasty words, and satisfying every urge and desire. The ones that were becoming harder and harder to control with self gratification and one time partners. As the fire popped, Bruce was brought back to reality. He felt sick, biting back against his thoughts. 

Bruce pressed his palms to his eyes to block out the light, and thought hard on what the circumstances were that night. That wasn’t just an unexpected drop-in, Joker had warned him about something. That someone was cheating? What could that mean? Bruce slid the card into his pocket, not wanting to look at it anymore. It was all most likely a trick. He was attempting to lure him in with a strange new tactic. The thing that he needed to be most wary of was the fact that Joker had somehow discovered his identity. What were the chances that Joker would run around and share that information with every villain on the street? No. Bruce wrung his hands tightly together. Joker would keep that information to himself. One of the only predictable things about Joker was his insatiable fascination with Batman. He wouldn’t ever invite anyone else to join in on their personal battle. That doesn’t rule out the possibility that Joker wasn’t the first one to find out. If that’s the case-

“Bruce?” Alfred set a cautious hand on Bruce’s shoulder. His mouth was drawn into a tight line. “The Batsuit’s updates are finished.” 

“Thank you, Al.” He ran his fingers over the hem of his pocket, making sure the card was tucked safely away before he lifted himself up from the couch. His figure was highlighted by the burning fire, strong as ever but also bearing the weight of responsibility in his shoulders. The Wayne family portrait looked on over him, his parent’s eyes bright from the hearth. 

“Perhaps you should get more rest before ah-” Alfred had to turn and keep pace behind Bruce, as the man plodded forward towards the door to leave. “Before you go out hunting. A few hours, at least.” Bruce’s stride didn’t slow. He paused only long enough to thank Alfred for his concern before closing the parlor door. With Alfred’s fatherly gaze shut behind the door, Bruce let his fingers dance over his pocket for a sparing moment before he let his hand fall to his side. The card was a physical representation of the worries and thoughts tucked in his mind. Present, but out of sight for the moment. For the moment, at the very least. 

The Batcave welcomed him again with it’s chilly embrace, the rush of goosebumps up his arms pulling him out of his mind and into the moment. He approached the batsuit, the hulking armor on it’s stand looking like it could start breathing and walking. More and more, Bruce was feeling like a snail without its shell. Naked in business attire, only fully clothed behind heavy bullet proof high tension fibers. Along the jagged walls of the sanctuary, a family of bats looked on as he donned the suit, with the swiftness and discipline of practice, each strap and buckle fit his body perfectly. Their small, reflective eyes almost looked approving, Bruce thought. Like now he was closer to being one of them, a creature of the night. It really was an intimate exchange they shared. He kept the caves free of predators or human interaction, and in turn they kept his secrets. 

The cowl reminded him of the recent updates. For right now, the map of Gotham was his biggest concern. The small green dots hadn’t moved much, but they had grown in density. Every hour there were at least ten more recruits in whatever this growing scheme was. With a press of a button, something came alive under his feet. The metal landing under him began to rumble as mechanisms turned and began to retrieve his vehicle of choice for the night. A platform rose, bringing with it the glistening Batmobile. The dim lights in the cave reflected off of it’s black paint giving it an attractive luster. Batman gripped onto the door and hopped inside, his cape flicking behind him. The roof to the vehicle slid shut, and the harness seat belt facined itself automatically. In the privacy of his own car, Batman let an excited grin spread from one cheek to the other. Nothing makes a 30 year old man feel more like a child than a shiny, fast car. 

The engine sang as Batman ripped up the runway out of the cave.

  


Bruce was met by the flickering memory of a roller coaster he rode when he was a child. 

  


\---- 

\---- 

  


Her nails were examined under a street light. They reflected back into her babydoll eyes black and red, pleasing her greatly. They looked professional. Grown up, although they were trimmed short. She was used to having to keep them tamed, both in her old line of work and her new career as an abeler to the criminally insane. A delicious joy suddenly entered her mind as she realized that with all of this one-on-one interaction she has been getting with her ex- patients, now in their natural habitats, she could write a thesis report that would knock the socks off of her old professors. If she could focus long enough without getting too excited. The gleam in the eyes of madness was sickly attractive. Her heart had been stolen by an unrestrained laugh and the execution of dark urges without mercy. 

From her plastic straw she sipped up a round tapioca bubble, hightop sneakers kicking out under her with each step. Gotham was dark and haunting around her, but in her own little world she was walking down the streets of Metropolis in the middle of the day. The edges of Gotham, the ones furthest from Wayne Tower, were the most dangerous. This is where the wreckage of old town houses was inhabited by those denied the comfort of real homes, and the cops never dared roll through. 

Her bright red strawberry tea with black boba made a pleasing noise as she slurped up the tasty bubbles. She chewed on one thoughtfully and hummed in pleasure. Despite the light pollution that covered most of the night time stars, the moon still glowed. Her pale face took on an angelic halo, tainted most beautifully by sinister lipstick and sharp eye liner. Harley looked up, the belfry of a stone church looked back with it’s stained glass eyes. It’s surroundings were fenced off, one end hiding a small overgrown garden. A single, sickly tree slumped in it’s corner, it’s long branches untrimmed and brushing the ground.

Siiiiiiiiiip-

“Oh yeah.” Harley rolled her eyes back with a dopey grin. “That's way better than wine.” She finished the cup, leaving the last few bubbles forgotten at the bottom. With a graceful bound, she mimicked a basketball player, pitching the cup over the edge of the fence and cheering when it successfully landed out of sight. Merrily on her way, she skipped and hummed to herself something she heard on the radio that morning while getting ready. 

“Uh-No.” She felt a tickle around her ankle, and the city lights blurred as she was suddenly being hoisted upward. Her pigtails dangled, her head spinning and trying to make sense of the suddenly upside down world.

Her view was blocked by a tapping green stiletto. 

“Trash doesn’t go in gardens, Harls.” A smoky voice scolded. The thin weeping willow branch that was supporting her by her ankle lifted her higher, until she was looking right into almond eyes. In one gloved hand, the woman standing before her held a plastic cup. She dumped out the tapioca pearls onto the sidewalk, pretty painted lips turning into a disappointed frown. “Also, these cups aren’t biodegradable. I thought you knew better.” 

“I’m sorry Ivy.” Harley gave her absolute best kicked puppy pout, tilting her head down in exaggerated shame. “I’ve been a bad girl, huh? Maybe if you give me a kiss.” she pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I’d do better at rememberin’.” 

“Bad girl indeed.” The branch loosened its grip on Harley’s leg. Harley landed with the grace of a gymnast, rubber heels giving a single click. She stood tall to grin at Ivy. “You’re not very funny Harley.” 

“Aw I think i’m a hoot.” Harley retorted. “So whatcha doin’ in my neck of the woods, rosy?” 

Before Ivy responded, she shoved the empty cup into Harley’s hands. She stared at it for a moment before holding it behind her back. She’d find somewhere to discard it later. She gave Ivy an innocent smile, saddling closer to her. Her silk dress was slit up to her hip, exposing a long, sculpted leg. Her stockings were thin, but tight against her thigh. In the yellow gleam of the streetlight, her green skin was all the more alien and beautiful. Her copper hair was brushed behind one ear, the pink blush on her cheek begged to be kissed. Harley struggled to pay attention when the aroma of psychoactive flowers started to waft into her nose. Their relaxing scent seemed to linger in Ivy’s clothes like cigarette smoke. 

“Well, I am not one for games but Riddler seemed keen that I play.” Ivy wrapped one long lock of rolling hair around her finger. Her eyes were half lidded, aloof. “I used one of the old lab’s computers and my oh my was I surprised. I have to say, I’m impressed that he’s playing for keeps. It takes a real man to pick fights with Batman.” Her voice rolled seductively, her shoulders swaying as if the idea gave her chills. “I love stupid men.” 

“Aw, me and Mistah Jay got that game all figured out.” Harley was quick to respond, stepping in front of Ivy to pull in her attention. “It aint no fun no-more anyway. Instead of hide and seek, let's play tag once the big bad bully is blasted off the playground.” 

Ivy’s mouth went agape. Her honey-colored eyes hunted for the lie in Harley’s face. “What are you saying? You /know/ who Batman is?” 

Harley snapped her teeth over her bottom lip, and she flinched away as if Ivy was going to hit her. She couldn’t keep looking her in the eye, and instead focused on her toes. The red and black sneakers danced in place as she responded. 

“Well, uh…” She ground one of the boba pearls into the concrete with her heel. “I can’t say we played fair. Riddler gave us a pretty big hint. But the game is over now. I’m off to tell Mr Bowler hat that we won.” Her hands found their way up to her pigtails, and she tugged on them bashfully. 

“Well.” Ivy pressed a knuckle to her chin and looked up at the moon, her rose lips parted in an amused smirk. Harley stopped anxiously pacing in place. “This is big news. However, I have a feeling that the game is nowhere near over.” She let her hand fall from her chin until it rested against her chest. “Can I come with you?” 

“Sure!” Harley’s eyebrows shot up with excited energy. She grasped Ivy’s hand, sliding in close until their shoulders bumped. She brought the cup forward. “As long as I can throw this away at the next bin.” 

Ivy rolled her eyes. “Counter condition, Next time you want a sugary drink just give me a ring. I can make you the sweetest flower nectar smoothie.” She laced their fingers together between them. “No more plastic, okay Harls?” 

“O-kie-do-kie.” As they walked along, she dropped the cup in an appropriate garbage can. She shrunk with a shy grin when Poison Ivy gave her a look of adoration for the act. 

They had to step over a road barrier to sneak into Gotham’s harbor. The air around them grew heavy and humid, and ever colder. The rows of storage buildings with their rusted faces and barren surroundings took on the aura of death. Harley and Ivy together pressed their backs to one of the cold walls when a truck rolled past, it’s headlights not bright enough to give away their location. They snuck in the shadows until they reached the water’s edge, here, the buildings were all but collapsing and a single, ghostly ship was forever anchored to shore. The platform came up to a large concrete wall, where barnacles and algae grew. Harley crouched down at the edge, looking down the precarious drop into the icy water. 

“We’ve pitched a lotta bodies over this edge.” Harly mused, tossing a loose stone down, to hear it go ‘plop’. “I bet there are some fat fishies down there.” A frozen wind swept off the water, and Ivy crossed her arms against the cold. 

“Uhg…” She groaned, looking into their dark surroundings. “I’ll be happy to get back into my greenhouse.” 

From behind them, the screech of a rusted door was followed by a hulking figure in the doorway. One of Riddler’s two grunts looked Harley and Ivy up and down before gesturing inside. Edward Nygma stepped out into the brisk air. His green suit was well fitted and clean, but his grin was broken and lop-sided. Crooked teeth peeked out from behind his thin lips. 

“Welcome Harley Quinn. It’s good to see you.” The tone he spoke with was plastic, and shallow. “And you brought someone with you?” He approached them, a slight swagger in time with his cane, and eyes losing track of their eyes. He stopped in front of Ivy, taking her hand and pressing a chaste kiss on her knuckles. “ The color of money, Her tastes are somewhat obscene. Played around with nasty chemicals, and now she is forever-” 

“Green.” Her eyes gave the slightest glow, and down her arm came a winding vine. It wrapped around Edward’s wrist and gave a squeeze. “You do know how to make a girl’s stomach flutter, Edward.” 

The man pulled back in pain, giving his wrist a quick shameful rub before brushing it off with a twirl of his cane. He sent his gaze Harley’s way. The clown girl had stood at this point, standing with her hands on her hips behind Ivy, her red lips pursed. The water below them crashed loudly against their landing. 

“So, the deed is done?” He asked, eyes squinting behind his purple mask. “Has our bat friend downloaded my game?” 

“Ah- Joker wanted to tell you himself, but he’s busy gettin’ all set up for the bat’s going away party. So he sent me with this.” Harley pulled her coat to the side to reveal a walky-talky attached to her belt. She detached it, and held it up to her lips. “You there Mistah Jay?”

The three waited in a tense silence as the walky-talky crackled to life. 

“Did you make it to Eddy’s place?” Joker’s voice was faint and compressed by the device, but his giggling cadence was unmistakable. 

“Yup~ Want me to hand you over to him?” 

“If you would, please darling.” 

Harley placed the walky-talky into Riddler’s waiting hand, pressing her hands to her cheeks, both to try and warm her hands and to hide her blushing face. She seemed only barely aware of Ivy’s hand slipping into the crook of her arm, shaking her gently. 

Edward gave a heavy sigh, his smile turning stony before falling into a scowl. 

“What is this about, Joker?” He spoke into the receiver, eyes becoming hard as he glared at Gotham across the water. “Have you done what I asked?” He was met with an empty crackle, but no response. His patience was growing thin, his grip on the walkie talkie causing it’s cheaply made seam to almost pop apart as he depressed the call trigger. “Answer me, clown.” 

The dead air again was Riddler’s response. It’s white noise seemed to roll on indefinitely, until a slow, steady laughter could be heard under the static. 

“You really are a shitty playmate. Even Harley the bimbo has enough brains to know how to play a fun game.” Joker finally responded, his dark sticcado laughter cut through the static with a venomous sharp quality. “God, you were going to kill him in the most BO-RING way possible. No, I did not give him the package.” Eddwad’s eyes beat so fiercely that they looked like they could pop out from under his tight mask. 

“Traitor!” He growled. Harley’s gleeful smile died on her lips, her hands folding onto themselves anxiously under her chin. Her eyes became glossy and pained. 

Joker’s voice came through shrill, dark with anger. “I gave him a heads up that he’s playing with a big FAT cheater. If you’re going to try and rain on my parade, break my favorite toy, ruin MY punchline, you had better do it with dignity. At least have the gall to do it face to face. Otherwise, get off of my stage. You slimy-worthless-” 

Joker was not given a chance to finish his monologue. Through his twisted lips Edward gave a terrible scream, throwing the walky-talky down onto the concrete with all of his might. The cheap device shattered, battery and wires skittering away, shutting the voice up. He whipped a finger into Harley’s face, his fury pointed towards her. She yelped, a hot tear rolling down her cheek. 

“You little- You yellow bellied little trick!” He gripped her jacket and yanked her forward, the girl’s feet buckled under her, and she came down hard on her knees in front of him. She held up her arms to protect her head when Edward’s cane rose up into the air. 

“Edward!” His cane was grabbed mid air, and ripped from his grip. It was thrown away, clattering against the cement a few feet into the darkness. “What the hell has gotten into you?” 

A new face was agape in shock, eyes filled with concern behind red goggles. Selina held onto Edward’s wrist, pulling it down from the air. She motioned with her eyes down to his other hand still gripping Harley’s jacket, and gave him an expectant look. Slowly, he released his grip. He glanced with wide eyes at Ivy, her nose wrinkled in fury, and a vine held prone, near his head. It was one moment from tearing it clear off. He ran a hand over his throat with a gulp, and stepped back from the girl on her knees. She pulled herself to her feet, and gently prodded at her now scraped knees. 

“Ouchie…” 

“Selina!... What are you doing here?” Edward’s gaze focused elsewhere as he adjusted his tie, and tugged on his blazer until it sat squarely on his torso. He took the bowler hat down off of his head and slid it under one arm, head falling in shame. “Is this about the game?” 

“I’ve been listening, and I didn’t realize how much was on the line.” Selina admitted, earnest worry in her voice. She nodded to Ivy that it was okay to stand down. With a shifting glance, Ivy retracted her vine. “So, you tried to pull a fast one on Batman?” 

“Tried is the right word.” Riddler rolled his eyes, his bony chest giving an exasperated sigh. “But Joker threw a wrench into my plans. He was supposed to give Batman a copy of the game.” 

“Well, that might not be a problem.” Selina clicked her tongue, stepping closer to the circle of rouges. A highlight ran down her athletic build across her shiny leather catsuit. “He has a copy. He took mine. I was here to ask for a new one.” Her breath was hot on the air, collecting into a misty puff.

Riddler’s eyes widened, his cracked face suddenly glowing. “He did?” He asked, overjoyed. “That’s wonderful! Selina you gorgeous treasure!” 

“But what about Puddin’?” Harley asked, her posture was bent, arms wrapped around herself in a tight hug. She looked overly unhappy, sniffling both from the cold and recent abuse. 

Poison Ivy’s eyes filled with pity as she spoke. “He’s going to be fine, Harls. Maybe it’s best that you stay out of the crossfire.” She moved to touch Harley’s arm, but she was denied. Harley stamped her foot, fists balling at her sides. 

“Joker knows what he’s doing!... I- I just don’t know what he’s doing.” She sighed, head rolling onto one shoulder. “Or where he is. I wish you didn’t break my walky talky, Mr.Riddler.” 

Selina crossed her arms, scoffing in Riddler’s direction as she shot him a dark leer. The man’s eyebrows knitted together under his mask, his overall posture uncomfortable under the cat’s glare. He sighed again, the puff through his nose steaming slightly in the cold. 

“Uh- I do apologize. That was unbecoming of me. You must understand the stakes, I-” 

“No.” Selina gripped into his tie, giving it a harsh tug. The older man gave her an owlish look. She took his hat from him, settling it onto his graying hair before speaking. 

“Edward…’I’m sorry’ was all you had to say.” She purred, pulling him hard to whisper in his ear. In a voice as soft as kitten’s fur, she spoke so only he could hear. “Play nice, and we can use her later.” She released him, the long thin rope on her hip flicked by her legs like a sleek tail when she turned to smile at Harley. 

“The game isn’t over, hun.” She flexed one hand, the claws glinting. “There’s still lots of fun to be had.” 

Poison Ivy turned away from the group, her eyes fixing on the city. Over the water the sound of a powerful engine roared. That couldn’t be anything else but the Batmobile, racing into the playing field. Over the water, she could see the tiniest snowflakes starting to fall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying! Please remember to comment, it helps fuel my creativity! <3 Stay safe.


	4. Black knight to E6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly getting back into fan fiction writing. :) Some of my stories will be getting updates.

“You don’t gain anything by letting men treat you like this.” 

Harley hissed in pain as Poison Ivy gently dabbed her knees with a wet cloth. Her fingers gripped tight to the wooden wicker seat she was perched on, toes flexing with each delicate touch. Her shoes laid haphazardly on the ground a few feet away, and her jacket was hung neatly on a medical skeleton, which had become home to a few pussytoe plants with their blunt frosted leaves. 

Ivy sighed as she stood to look over her meager medical supplies. A helpful vine came to take the bloody cloth from her, dropping it in the laundry before returning it’s long shiny tendral to it’s pot. The whole lab turned apartment was gleaming with green, healthy foliage. Oversized blooms released an attractive aroma, lining doorways and spreading with viggor over lab tables. Beakers and bottles were now used as tiny pots for saplings, as did the deep sinks. The corner where Harley sat was the part that most resembled a bedroom, with a mattress lined with moss. It looked welcoming, which didn’t surprise Harley. The incense-like smell that clung to the air made the harlequin want to curl up and sleep. The teasing pain on her knees was doing it’s part in keeping her awake, as did Ivy’s stern tone. 

“You let those fools throw insults at you like a dartboard, and I don’t even think you consider defending yourself.” Ivy had removed her dress earlier, and now covered herself in a thin robe. It was sheer, hiding virtually nothing. Harley’s eyes drifted to her ankles, and traced the line from her calf up to the back of her leg, before deciding that the red flower on the ceiling was also very interesting. “You’re a grown woman, Harls.” Ivy continued. 

“I know… I jus-” Harley laid her hands on her lap, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me… Maybe I need a shrink.” 

"You ARE a shrink!" Ivy stated, rattling the medical supplies as she aggressively retrieved a box of bandages. "You have more knowledge on abusive relationships than anyone. And yet you've let yourself get snared in the most obvious one." Ivy knelt again, and with tender care, covered Harley's wounds. The momentary frustration in her posture and tone melted, and she ran her long fingers up the back of Harley’s leg, drawing her knee up close so she could press gentle kisses to her wound. The pain subsided almost instantly, and was replaced by a tingly numbness. 

"...Abusive?" Harley echoed, her face was washed clean of makeup, but her lips were still a lovely dusty pink. The corners of her lips turned down in a thoughtful, conflicted frown. "I think what me and Joker has goes beyond that. I wouldn't even call him my boyfriend anymore, Rosey." She stood, essentially pulling her legs from Ivy's gentle grasp. She looked down at her, thin eyebrows pulling together in distress as her baby blue eyes became unfocused with deep thought. "Mistah J has very important work to do. It's not his fault I mess it up all the time. If I get in the way of his plans, I deserve to get punished." Ivy gripped Harley’s hands, giving them a tight, sympathetic squeeze. She stood, searching for a moment for any sign of doubt. Ivy sadly found nothing but the masochistic devotion of a saint.

"We'll put this one away for now." She spoke quietly. "But don't you ever think he's the only one looking out for you." She released Harley’s hands to return to her supplies, putting them away and leaving her friend's side. 

Harley sniffled, and carefully moved to sit on the bed, feeling the cool moss under her feet. She sighed bitterly, letting her spine go loose and flopping back on the soft sheets like a ragdoll. The colorful flowers acted like a mobile that would hang over a child's bed, immediately soothing the girl, allowing her to submit to the exhaustion that the night brought. The sun had been brightly shining into the room, where all of the leaves turned to it to gather as much sun as possible. As she gazed at the ceiling, a bright red and green flower entered her vision, smiling calmly at her. 

"Has anyone ever told you that you were a cutie?" Harley giggled weakly. She placed her elbows under her to sit up, but a vine pushed her chest back down into the bed. Ivy slid in next to her, her silken robes soft against Ivy's pale skin. She hummed as she gathered the girl to her chest. Harley complied, settling her head against Ivy's neck and taking a deep breath. Their warm limbs settled heavy, and gently pressed against each other. The vine pulled the curtains closed, encasing them in a comfortable darkness. Harley felt entirely enveloped in Ivy's muscular arms, her floral scent tugged on her eyelids, and drew deep soothing breaths from her chest. Her eyelashes brushed against Ivy's collar bone, tickling slightly. 

“I really can’t nap for long.” Harley hummed, her forehead gathering in frustration. Her arms betrayed her as they tightened around Ivy’s waist, holding her close like a teddy bear. “I gotta find Jokey soon. He’s gotta be worried about me by now.” Her voice lowered as she gaped a large yawn, which ended in a comfortable sigh.

"Get some sleep Harls." Ivy hummed. She ran her long nails down Harley’s scalp, gently brushing through her blond hair down to the colored tips. The girl was asleep in moments, her expression becoming peaceful as her body released all tension. It was in part due to Ivy's psychoactive touch, but it was hardly needed. The girl would have been long gone with nothing but Ivy's protective arms, and the warmth of her body next to hers. 

  


\-------

  


As the Batmobile rocketed through Gotham, it’s street lights ran over the shiny exterior of the car in sharp angles resembling lightning bolts, and reflected in Batman’s sleepless red eyes. His leather gloves creaked as he gripped hard on the steering wheel, and his deep breaths pressed against the shoulder restraints. His hunt had distracted him from his mind for the last few hours, but as daylight threatened to chase away the darkness, he was left with nothing but the rhythmic tapping of morning drizzle on his windshield and the roar of the engine. His thoughts were invaded by confusion and images of friends and enemies. This whole trouble with Riddler had been strangely un-announced, no explosions or hostages, only a race against time. The Riddler must know that Batman was on his tail at this point, but Bruce had no way to know for sure. He still couldn't shake the conversation he had the night before with Joker. What was his role in all of this? His methods had always been confusing, but he had never attempted to dress himself as anything but the villain before. The gesture that he was on Bruce's side was vague but unsettling. Obviously, Joker knew his identity now, and had enough gall to not keep that fact a secret. Whatever game was being played, Bruce had to kick himself that his gut instinct wasn't telling him to stay away from the Joker. On the contrary, it was pushing him to accept the olive branch. It must have been the lack of sleep that drove his mind to this point again as he carefully swerved around a slow-moving suburban. In a flicker of a second, he saw inside the tiny hand of a child pressed against the window. The child must have heard him coming, and was now ogling to see the Batmobile zip past. One moment of distraction, a fault in the batmobile’s anti-accident programming, and that life would be unfairly cut short. His mistakes could lead to death. It had before in the past. It took months of Alfred’s stern fatherly advice and silent hours in the dark before he could begin to forgive himself. He remembered, briefly, Alfred sitting across from him in the library, reading aloud a book on child psychology. The word, “survivor’s guilt” stuck into his young mind. The inflections of Alfred’s voice when explaining that he was concerned that the young Bruce was taking too much responsibility for his mother and father’s death. He remembered it so clearly, as the very moment that he decided that his responsibility was to give their death meaning. Batman was conceived that night between a young imagination and a black crayon drawing. Batman has lived in him ever since. There was also the possibility that Bruce Wayne ceased to exist that night. 

Bruce was pulled out of his thoughts by a bright light. The sun was beginning to peek through the windshield. It cascaded orange hues over his black suit. He had missed the sunrise the morning before, and noticed with a heavy sigh that he had been out hunting green dots all night. 

  


“Batman? Tonight you were more like Pac-man.” A voice echoed in his head. 

  


Nothing coffee and concealer couldn’t fix. The Wayne Manor was visible in the distance, but he took a sharp turn away from the massive building. With a command, the batmobile drove itself down the secret runway, and into the dark, comforting coolness of the batcave. Batman flinched at the sun’s gleam that reflected from the hood of the car before vanishing behind the heavy steel door. 

On its circular platform, the car rolled to a stop. His body needed coaxing to get him to get out. The batsuit had already been mostly removed, but Bruce would need to ask Alfred to put it back on the stand. There were times where he felt bad for asking Alfred to do menial tasks like this, and there were others where he was so exhausted that he couldn’t be anything but thankful. He counted down from five, hoisting himself up from the seat and onto his feet at two. The massive screens blinked to life, greeting him. The monitors flickered, an image of the daily news along with a digital clock. 7:13 in the morning. His dull senses were filled by a slow droning over the current and predicted weather. He couldn’t care less, his tired head was already grieving that he was expected for a meeting at Wayne Enterprises at 9:00. 

“Computer, quiet.” He commanded. The screens went mute obediently. On one of the smaller monitors, the ones that Bruce used to display case evidence and run data, the Riddler’s ugly yellow and green text still mocked him. “Who is the Batman?” The text box seemed to quiver with anticipation. Waiting excitedly to be filled with his name. 

“Good morning Master Bruce.” Bruce lifted his heavy head to be greeted by his butler stepping out of the elevator. “I trust the hunt was fruitful?” He asked, a smile touching his aged features. His suit was well ironed, his shoes were shining, and his back was straight as a ruler. The perfect image of composed dignity. Bruce hoped he could be half as put together as Alfred at his age. He felt like collapsing when the old man put a caring hand on his back. He had to very seriously fight the urge to ask to be carried back to his room like he would have as a very young child. 

“Yeah, you could say that.” Bruce responded. He sucked in a breath to remind himself not to slouch. “I didn’t run into any of our old friends though, and that’s what’s really got me concerned. The people I found with Riddler’s program were just regular citizens, for the most part. I did speak with a group of drug-runners, but there was everyone from the homeless to an old widow woman living alone.” He ran a hand across the crown of his head, taming the dark hair that had stepped out of line. “I guess Riddler is really just shooting his shot. He wants to know if there is some rat in the gutter who knows my secret.” 

“Surely none of them do.” Alfred assured him, but he couldn’t hide a tone of concern in his voice. “But what of the false claims? I’m terribly afraid that Riddler is going to take every name he receives seriously. Innocent people might get hurt.” 

The two of them boarded the elevator together. As the doors closed, Bruce leaned against the wall, his head felt light, but his mind was heavy with Alfred’s comment. He closed his eyes against it, needing to block out the dim light in order to think. 

“Of course I thought of that.” He finally said. “I’m going to use the upstairs computer to hack in based on my copy of the program. I’ll overload his server, and make it so no submissions can be sent properly. That will protect me and anyone who has the pleasure of being rumored to be me. Nothing will be able to be tracked back to me.” He couldn’t help but let a chuckle leave him humorlessly. “Do you think there’s someone out there who would want to take over as Batman?” 

Alfred did not even pretend to smile. “Master Dick did.” He responded, eyebrows falling over his wrinkled eyes. “And I’m sure he still would, some day. I spoke with him while you were gone, actually. He’s doing very well for himself in Jump City. One of his greatest aspects is his leadership, and that can be squarely accredited to you.” With a practiced flick, he pulled back the cuff to his jacket to check the time. His watch glinted as the elevator doors opened. “If this Riddler business is solved in a timely manner, You should take some time away from Wayne Enterprises to visit him.” 

This caused Bruce to smile as he stepped heavily out. “You miss him too.” He said, turning to see Alfred snap his arm back to his side in surprise. “We’ll both go see him. Buy him and his friends dinner. It’ll be nice. I think all three of us deserve that.” 

Alfred’s head tilted, a bitterly happy smile crossing his thin lips. 

“I would like that very much, Bruce. Young Dick has left a hole in his absence. I sometimes still catch myself preparing him a plate for dinner or expecting to see him in the weight room.” His pale eyes connected with Bruce’s, and the air took on a thicker quality. 

Something came over Bruce. It must have been the lack of sleep, or the subtle way that the skin on Alfred’s cheeks was growing thinner with each passing year, but Bruce found himself stepping towards him before he could stop himself. With heavy arms, he carefully pulled Alfred in. After a pause, Alfred returned the hug. He held Bruce with thin arms, and they stood still for a few long moments. He could hear Alfred take in a shocked breath. 

Bruce was the first to remove himself. 

“When this case is over, we’ll go see him.” He repeated. Although Alfred smiled in return, he felt a painful stab of guilt when he saw the old man’s eyes welling over. He cleared his throat, and cast his gaze to the ground. “For now though, I think i’m going to pass out if I don’t close my eyes soon.” 

Alfred was quick to compose himself. “Right. I’ll come wake you as soon as breakfast is ready.” 

Bruce relied solely on muscle memory to get to his room. His blinking eyes kept him from bumping into walls as he went. With the door closed behind him, he collapsed face first into the perfectly ironed and made bed. His white comforter was cold to the touch, but all that did was make Bruce want to crawl under it more as the airy material softly brushed against his weary arms. As he shifted his hips to lay correctly, something in his pocket pinched his leg. He winced and rolled on his back, retrieving the object from his pocket. He sighed, realizing the card had been wrinkled. He read the text again as he tried to smooth out the indents without ruining the elegant handwriting. 

“Park street….Follow the white rabbit?” He hummed, eyes growing heavy. “Thanks for the directions, Joker. Lemme just pop that into google maps.” 

He groaned, pulling himself back onto his feet just long enough to snatch his laptop from the bedside table. Selina’s usb had already been placed on the table as well, as this had been plan B if nothing came of the night’s hunt. It was easy to set up the program to overload Riddler’s server. It would take time, but that’s exactly what Bruce was happy about. He set the laptop down, glancing over it before sliding under the covers. 

As he succumbed to his brief nap, he settled his hand on his chest, card still held protectively between calloused fingers. 

\------

  


Hazel eyes reflected green and yellow by the light of the monitor. Two hands, boney and stained purple at the fingertips, reached high into the dusty, morning beam lit air. The skin on his knuckles tightened and displayed their layered scars as he craned and stretched his fingers. His red mouth gaped, a low, throaty yawn filling his lungs. He popped his knuckles, and rolled his shoulders, before bringing his hands down into his lap. The once clean and classy material on his thighs were now spangled with droplets of blood. His dress shirt and vest decorated the same, along with a beige smear of concealer, as the man regrettably forgot to pack makeup remover. Now his natural bleached complexion was patched by the peachy tone worn earlier the night before. His voice, again, pulled up from his vocal cords like an old untuned piano as he hummed to fill the silence around him. His tired eyes bopped along with the dancing text on the screen, and lazily floated upwards with the running script. He had constructed this laptop after years of catching (with his skin) pieces of Batman’s technology. One in particular, thrown via batarang into one of his fun party bombs, had turned off it’s countdown. It turns out that Gotham’s underground hacker community was thrilled to get their hands on Batman’s tech. Joker brought it to them, and after receiving an explanation on how the tiny chips inside worked, he silenced them all with bullets. Pawns in the game, more rats with failed college degrees in computer sciences would fill the cracks they left behind. Now, he understood that the components could be repurposed. He always had expected to use it to counter Batsy’s troublesome bomb defusers, but instead, the technology’s new cause would be to find similar bomb-related code in Riddler’s horrible game. 

It flickered at him, red, “search unsuccessful.” 

He tugged so hard on his eyelids, the whites of his eyes looked like cue balls, ready to plop out of his skull and onto his lap. When he released them, the black eyeliner smeared in the shape of dark tears. He was terribly awake. Terribly, painfully awake. His usual animalistic grimace grin was subdued, only a small smirk painted with fading lipstick. He groaned his fury, setting up the next lines of code to be read by Batman’s program. When he was again denied by the search, his hand snapped through the air in an exasperated gesture.

“Is there a Kaboom or not!?” He demanded his question to the computer, but it ran it’s next line quietly without an instant response. “That egotistical jerk told me this program ended in a bang! Where is it?” He ran his fingers down his gaunt face, breathing in a sigh of defeat. “First he ruins the surprise of who was under that tight leather wrapping paper, and now this. He’s so very… Uhng- ANNOYING!” 

He rolled his head back on the aged upholstery of the love seat. The home around him creaked as it’s old wood filled with cold morning rain. A long, groaning sigh left him. Thoughts of where his dimwit partner had gone off to were fleeting, and replaced by a quickening anxiety. His eyelashes flickered in the dim light, as his thoughts ran wild with their ideas. He had never had to play like this before, and the pressure of learning new rules was getting to him. 

A new message pulled his attention back to the screen. He licked his lips as he read the tiny notification. It was a summary of how the Riddler’s game was interacting with the computer. He quirked an eyebrow. This was new. As he continued down the list of recent orders that the program had carried out, more appeared. It was hunting through his computer files. What was it looking for?

“Search_Tech_Inventory_Failed.” 

“Search_Tech_Images_Failed.” 

He furrowed his brow, holding his breath as he watched the script. It was sweeping the contents of his computer, but what was it looking for?

“Search_Modifications_Bat_Bombdetection_Success.” 

“Network_Discovered.” 

“WayneTech_Discovered. Bomboveride_True_enable. SetDetionationTime_60m.” 

And with this, the screen to the laptop sizzled and went blank. 

“Oh-” He groaned in realization. “Oh fffffuck. There’s the kaboom.” 

His mouth gaped, breath leaving him threatening hyperventilation. He slammed the laptop closed hard, and threw it from his lap. It clashed with the bare wooden floors and shattered, pieces scattering.

“Oh Batsy…” He groaned, pulling his knees up to his chest, eyes focusing on the pieces. “You’re not stupid enough to run this on one of your non-bat computers, are you?” He nibbled on the skin of his thumb, calming himself. “He wouldn’t… He wouldn’t….” 

At the border of the city’s limits, lay rows and rows of ghostly houses. The ex-suburb had become desolate years ago, for no reason that any citizen could remember. All that was left was skeletons of homes, most still occupied by the forgotten or families of rats. The gate that had once kept lowlives out of the closed community not only swung on broken hinges, but was twisted and warped by the car that had smashed through it one cold night by a group of thugs running from the police. Inside the buildings could be considered a time capsule of sorts, with architecture and abandoned furniture reminiscent of the golden years of Gotham. 

In the front yard of home 283, along with cardboard boxes and scattered trash, laid the body of a man who had thought the house was god-sent, as it had been filled with living supplies days before. Joker had been the first to come, and gently evict him from his hiding place with a gun. The man wasn’t dead, as the violence only escalated to the back of his head being popped with the handle of a small pistol, but it was enough to put him out cold for the night. Dead bodies gather attention, and this was one of those rare nights that he didn’t want that. The hobo’s coat soaked with the icy morning rain, as he sniffled and snored. 


End file.
